The Psychology of Heaven
by Veritas Found
Summary: After the events on the SS Pentallian, Martha questions the Doctor on his views of heaven.


**Title:** "The Psychology of Heaven"

**Author:** Wish Wielder

**Fandom:** Doctor Who

**Pairing / Character Focus:** (Tenth) Doctor, Martha Jones

**Challenge:** N/A

**Theme / Prompt:** N/A

**Word Count:** 1,230

**Rating:** T / PG-13

**Summary:** After the events on the SS Pentallian, Martha questions the Doctor on his views of heaven.

**Notes:** S3, directly after 42; part of the Psychology series (the first that has nothing to do with clothes or comic relief, in fact). References to previous companions (Time Lords and Rose being the obvious, others not as much so).

**Disclaimer:** "Doctor Who" and all respective properties are © the BBC. Megan D. (Wish Wielder) does not, has never, nor will ever own "Doctor Who".

"_**The Psychology of Heaven"**_

"What's going to happen to them?"

He jumped at the voice, pausing on the opposite side of the console from her. She sat in the jump seat, her knees tucked to her chest as she watched the old Yale key dangling from its metal chain. But he could see it in her eyes: she wasn't looking at the key. Her sights and mind were far away, back on that ship, probably. He sighed and looked back down to the console, flipping a switch. It didn't really affect anything – just gave him something to do other than look at her. Other than face her.

He was finding it harder to face them these days.

"Oh, they'll be fine," he said. "They'll stop harvesting living suns for fuel, dock at some space port somewhere and start a respectable cargo trade – or go their separate ways and get good, grounded jobs. Who was that one you kissed before we left? Riley? Yes, Riley – he'll probably do that. Find a girl and settle down. Go domestic. Scannell might stick with the cargo trade. But more likely they'll ju-"

"I didn't mean them, Doctor," she said, looking up at him with a slight smile. He frowned at her, and she sighed as she looked back to her new key. "The others. The ones who didn't make it."

"The…others?" he asked, faltering as his mind ground to a halt. What was she on about now?

"McDonnall and Korwin, Ashton, Erwin…the ones the sun killed," she said. She gave him a pointed look. "You've been all over this great big universe, Doctor. You have to know what happens to them."

He was silent a long moment. Maybe too long, but it wasn't exactly something he could help. How was he supposed to answer that? It wasn't like 'How's the weather?' or even 'What do you like best on your chips?'; it was…deep. Well, serious, at least. And she was right – he should have an answer. But how could he tell her he didn't? How could he tell her that after nine hundred or so years of police box travel he had no better clue than she did?

"Nothing," he finally said, and again she gave him that curious look. He wished she'd stop doing that. Again he flipped a switch, just for something to do. "Nothing happens to them, Martha. They're dead."

"I know that, Doctor," she said, rolling her eyes at him. "I meant what happens to them now that they're dead. Where do they go? What do they do? What happens to them after they've died?"

He sighed and walked around to her, leaning against the console as he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the vaulted ceiling. She was watching him, waiting for an answer he couldn't give her.

"I don't know," he said, pushing out a breath. "That's why they call death a mystery, Martha – no one knows. Not even me."

"Find that hard to believe," she said with a snort, and he quirked a brow at her. "You don't even have a theory?"

"Oh, everyone's got theories, Martha – that's what religion's for," he said, and she laughed. She looked past him to the time rotor as she folded her arms on her knees and leaned on them.

"So what's your religion, then? What's your theory on the afterlife?" she asked. He looked away, again mentally squirming under the desire to avoid her questions. A single word – a single name – came to mind, but it wasn't as easy as it had been before, under that black hole; it was hard to believe in something so fiercely when it was trapped a universe away.

"Why's it matter? You must have your own theories to stick to," he said. She shrugged.

"Not really," she said. "Occupational hazard, I'm afraid. You either draw closer to a faith or you find ways to push it away. I've landed myself somewhere in the middle. Just curious, is all."

She scooted closer to the edge of the chair, giving him that 'I dare you' look she was so good at. She raised a brow and said, "What do you think, Doctor? What happens when we die?"

"I don't think about it, Martha – that's the point," he said, moving to the other side of the console and shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked at the controls, studying what he already knew by heart just so he didn't have to see her. "My people thought they would never die, and then one day they did. We didn't put much stock in thinking about the after."

"But like you've said: they're dead," she said, and he knew immediately she regretted sounding so nonchalant about it. "I mean…don't you think about it now, now that…you've reason to?"

"No," he said, and she laughed.

"Oh, come on – everyone does, Doctor! All those theories on heaven and hell, reincarnation and the like," she said. She leaned back in the jump seat and looked up, smiling slightly. "I've always been a bit taken by heaven. Sounds nice, everyone together and happy for all eternity. Spending forever where your parents aren't arguing over dad's latest girlfriend and where mum doesn't say the latest girlfriend is orange. Don't you think that'd be nice?"

"No," he said, and her eyes widened at him.

"No?" she asked, sounding incredulous. "Really? Why not?"

"Everyone you've ever known, all in one place forever?" he asked, and she nodded. He looked back to the controls, playing with a knob.

"Yeah, pretty much," she said, and he sighed.

"Think of it, Martha - everyone you care for, everyone you hate, everyone you've ever met, all in this one place for all eternity. Everyone you've ever let down, ever lost - do you really think you could bear it?" he asked, looking up at her, and she knew – saw it in those ancient eyes – he needed an answer as desperately as she wanted one. She glanced away from that gaze for just a moment, but that was all the sign he needed. Put in such harsh terms, heaven didn't really seem such a paradise.

"Yeah, but –" she started, hoping maybe to salvage her fantasy, but he shook his head and cut her off.

"No, really – think about it, Martha. Could you do it?" he asked, and she paused. "Facing them? Their questions? 'Why did you let him kill me?' 'Why didn't you ever come back for me?' 'Why did you leave me?' 'Why did you let us burn?' 'Why did you run?' 'Why did you let me fall?' 'Why didn't you find a way through?!' 'Why did you leave me trapped there?!'"

"Doctor..." she whispered, shrinking back from him as he froze in his ranting. He shook, eyes wild and torn and...there, that look that told her exactly where in his past he was. Exactly who he was with. She saw the suppressed tears, glistening so close to the surface and begging for release, but he whirled away and stalked back to the console, placing a hand on the edge and gripping the coral like an anchor. Somehow, she knew that was the only anchor he had anymore.

"You call it heaven, Martha Jones," he said, and her eyes dropped to the hand that was gripping the console so tightly its knuckles bleached white, "but I'd call it hell."


End file.
